Pieces
by newspapercabs
Summary: Kingsley/Percy drabbles.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own this.

Pairing: Kingsley/Percy. Don't like, don't read.

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_Sick Day_

Percy was adorable, Kingsley thought with a wry smile. Too adorable to be fair really, wearing _his_ sweater that practically swallowed him, falling to his thighs along with his old, faded sweat pants that pooled around his feet; still unwittingly captivated by the sight, Kingsley watched Percy's ink-stained fingers curl happily around the warm, steaming cup of tea cradled between his hands as he burrowed himself deeper into the warm blanket.

The rough, hacking sound of coughing startled the minister from his reverie as reality once more settled around him, reminding him that the _only _reason Percy was staying home was because he was sick and that he had threatened to invite Molly over to "look after him" if he even thought of going to work. Percy had, in the end, reluctantly relented, but had sent him a withering glare that basically translated to: "no sex" and "sleeping on the couch until further notice".

Finally noticing he was still here, Percy glanced looked up at him from over the rim of his teacup and Kingsley still hasn't figured out how his lover manages too make that look, look menacing, especially with a runny nose and fatigued, glassy eyes, but he still somehow manages to pulls it off (he blames his sister by default because she's _evil_).

"What are you still doing here?" Kingsley restrains the smile threatening to upturn his lips as Percy's congestion turns the sharp question into an adorable mess of precise words coming out on a thick, uncoordinated tongue. It made him sound almost vulnerable; fortunately Kingsley has the self-preservation to not mention this.

"I'll be leaving in a minute," he said, crossing the room to the sofa, ignoring the tired glare sent his way as he bent down to kiss his fussy lover (and assistant) on the forehead because he knew he'd get hexed if he attempted to kiss him on the lips. Tucking a stray piece of that fiery red hair behind one ear, he gently stroked his fevered cheek, smiling softly when Percy unconsciously leaned into it. "Are you sure you'll be all right?"

"Yes Kingsley, I'll be _fine_," Percy insisted, probably for the tenth time since he'd been asking all morning. "It's just a cold."

"I'm aware, but—"

"No buts," Percy interrupted, "now _go_ do your job before the country falls apart without you."

Kingsley finally allowed the smile to surface, leaning down to kiss him again, "Yes dear."

"Go _away_," Percy said pointedly, hiding his own smile in his teacup as he pretended to take a sip.

Kingsley dissaperated with that stupid grin still glued to his face.

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After two hours of complete chaos Kingsley could finally hide in his office, all but collapsing in his chair as he rubbed his temples, trying desperately to assuage the headache threatening to become a full-blown migraine. Percy's stand in was (and this was being polite) a useless idiot who was somehow unaware of his thick-headed stupidity. It had come to a point where he believed he would have better luck trusting his schedule to the Weasley twins than this walking disaster. _Well, it was official,_ Kingsley decided, _either Percy is never allowed to get sick again _(preferable, but unlikely)_ or Percy was getting his own assistant that he would train in case this ever happens again._ That's it then, when Percy gets better he's getting an assistant whether he wants one or not.

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The only thing running through Kingsley's mind as he stepped through the door and into his beloved house was: _how the hell did I survive that?_ That boy was getting fired.

Releasing a deep sigh he stepped into the living room as he loosened his tie before stopping dead, his eyes fixated on the scene in front of him. It was Percy, curled up on the sofa like some great, ginger cat with the covers half on the floor and his toes curled, adorably buried in the cushions to try and stave off the cold that always nipped at his thin, bony digits.

But it was the pained grimace on his face that had caught Kingsley's attention, along with the constant sniffling, no doubt trying to clear his stuffed nose. And just like that, he felt the stress of his day lessen as it was put on the back burner; Percy was always the one taking care of everyone, it was just what he _did_, what he enjoyed, but now it was Percy's turn to be taken care of.

With careful, quiet steps Kingsley carefully maneuvered Percy so he could settle down beside him, his head in his lap. The red head sniffed loudly, pulling himself awake, making Kingsley twinge a little with guilt as sleepy, glazed eyes blinked at him. "Kingsley? Home already?"

"Yeah," he said quietly, brushing cautious fingers down his neck, knowing how illness made the muscles cramp.

Percy whimpered and Kingsley almost pulled away before he pressed back against the searching fingers. "Feels good," he murmured. "How was your day?"

Kingsley considered telling him that he'd been late for several very important meetings, that a handful of classified documents had gone missing for almost half the day and that he had seriously considered strangling his stand in assistant on more than one occasion, but as he carefully and gently rubbed away the tight, painful knots in his lover's neck and hearing pleased purrs and groaning whimpers and as he watched a small, contented smile slowly find purchase on those usually solemn lips the only thing he said was, "It was fine."

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	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own.

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_Saturday Delight_

Oliver looked far more amused than he had any right to be and Percy felt a twinge of terror run up his spine as he saw that wicked, teasing look in his eyes as he smiled at him, "You're not wearing any pants Perce."

Percy fought the inherent blush that fought for dominance on his pale face as he glared at his best friend, which judging by the growing, raucous grin on his stupid face he was far from intimidating. "I'm aware," he said dryly, nervously pulling down the over-sized sweater further down his legs, although it was so long and baggy on him it easily fell to his thighs with little encouragement. "Why are you here anyway?"

"Just thought I'd drop by to visit my best friend," Percy rolled his eyes at the endearment, "and you know, for food," Oliver added sheepishly.

Percy raised an appraising eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest, "You ran out of food, _again_? I told you to go shopping three days ago Ollie and besides don't you have a girlfriend to mooch off of?"

"Don't call me Ollie," he pouted, "and Michelle hasn't got off work yet, she had the night shift at the hospital."

Percy sighed, leaning against the doorframe as he tried to find a polite way to tell his best friend to bugger off so he could go back to bed with his lover and _not _be awake at seven in the morning on a _Saturday_. He may be a workaholic, but even he valued his days off damnit.

"You can invite him in Percy," the deep, unmistakable voice of Minister Kingsley Shaklebolt said from the stairwell. "I was getting hungry anyway. Would you like your usual?"

Ignoring the shit-eating grin Oliver was giving him, he answered with a casual, "Yes please," before pinning Oliver with a pointed glare. "Not a word," he growled as he reluctantly opened the door to let his soon to be _former_ best friend into his apartment.

Oliver of course, did not listen, instead slinging an arm over his shoulder and whispering rather loudly, "Your shagging the minister? Way to—"

"You will end that sentence right now if you know what's good for you," Percy warned in the same voice that made the even made the twins freeze and reconsider what they were about to do.

It roughly had the same effect on Oliver as they entered the kitchen. Kingsley had already set Percy's preferred coffee on the table along with a simple fried egg. Pointedly ignoring the famous quidditch player, he sleepily kissed Kingsley on the cheek before taking a sip of his coffee with a sigh of relief before sitting down.

"Anything you want Wood?" Kingsley asked a knowing smirk on his lips and a warning in his eyes.

Oliver reluctantly bit back the slue questions of how and _when_ they had gotten together, but he wasn't about to cross Shaklebolt, the man was terrifying when he wanted to be.

"Eggs," he said meekly, "anyway is fine."

Kingsley flashed him a smile, white and predatory and Oliver was beginning to question the wisdom of coming here of being such a good idea.

Percy merely watched them throughout breakfast, amusement shining sharply in his eyes as Kingsley unnecessarily intimidated poor Oliver; his way of revenge for their interrupted morning. Percy tried to feel sorry for his best friend as his lover gazed at Oliver like a predator would a limping prey, but he couldn't find the energy. And as Wood finally left properly traumatized and with his tail between his legs, Percy merely sipped his coffee and promised himself he'd apologize to Oliver sometime next week.

But for now, he was content with lounging in Kingsley's warm and sturdy embrace as he finished his coffee and watch the sunlight crawl across the cold, wooden floor of his apartment. Smiling to himself, he closed his eyes; all-in-all, not a bad a start to the weekend.

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	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own.

**Warning:** Angst! And a brief mention of rape.

_Price_

Kingsley hated this, hated Albus for allowing Percy to do this to himself all for rare scraps of information that had saved their lives on more than one account. Despite it, he swallowed down his anger and the way his heart broke when he visited Percy every week, never the same place twice, to exchange information. It was the only time Percy allowed him close, to help him into the bath and help wash the blood away that coated his thighs and the most intimate part of himself. He swallowed down his disgust (not a Percy, _never_ at Percy) and bite back the tears that sting at the corners of his eyes.

Sex for information; a different method of extracting information, but a successful one; Kingsley wishes everyday, every week that he would come up with a viable excuse to pull Percy out of there. To take him home, to wrap him tightly in his arms and never let go, never let the stupid, brave boy out of his sight again. To make love to him, sweet and gentle to help him forget the brutal violation of every rape he endured, to kiss away the red, bleeding bite marks that bruise his body.

To promise him that everything was going to be ok and not have to feel like he was lying.

But until that day came, the only thing he can offer is a warm, strong embrace that brings no judgment, or pity. And as he watches Percy allow himself to fall apart in his arms, with his thighs still slick with blood, the only thing he can do is hold on and swallow back his tears, praying that everything would someday be ok.

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